


Darkest Thoughts

by winter_scldier



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Use, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-08-19 13:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16535729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_scldier/pseuds/winter_scldier
Summary: His lips curled around the cigarette that rested in his shaky hand. His tobacco smoke blew out, mixing with the brisk, New York air. The chilled air nipped at his exposed skin, as he finally realized how unprepared he was to face the winter. But how can one return to Steve after all that happened that day?





	1. Screaming

_Shit. Steve would be so disappointed in me right now._

Bucky sighed as he put down the prescription bottle in his hand. He had gotten his hands on anti-anxiety medications, stolen from pharmacies. He was desperate for results, desperate to make his nightmares go away. He took a swig of whisky from the bottle, and stood up from his seat on the balcony of the apartment he shared with Steve. Heat blasted him as he stepped back inside, the light from the Christmas tree Steve insisted they put up illuminating the room in various shades of red and purple. 

He reached between the couch cushions and pulled out the package of cigarettes he had been hiding from Steve. Especially back before the war, Steve had always gotten on him every time he lit up, and something told him that wasn't about to change. The lock rattled with as Steve unlocked the deadbolt, and Bucky frantically shoved the pack back into its hiding spot. 

"You're home early," Bucky exclaimed, startled. Steve looked at him confused. "What do you mean? If anything I'm home super late."

Bucky looked at the clock on the other side of the room. It was well after three A.M., Bucky normally passed out on the couch long ago. 

"Fuck," he whispered to himself. "I-I totally lost track of the time." He let out a chuckle, more to Steve than to himself. Steve gave him a concerned look, but a gentle smile. "Well, at least now instead of tucking you in on the couch you can come to bed with me. Maybe then you'll actually get a good night sleep." Steve laughed gently and gestured for Bucky to follow him through the living room towards the bedroom. 

As Steve drifted off into a restful sleep, Bucky laid awake staring at the digital clock on the dresser across the room. He watched the sun rise outside the slatted blinds on the window, and got up to close it so it didn't wake up Steve. The truth was, Bucky didn't sleep much anymore. Most of the nights that Steve "tucked him in", was Bucky collapsed from a mix of alcohol and exhaustion, when his body just couldn't handle staying awake anymore. He retook his position in his favorite chair on the balcony after grabbing the bottle of whisky from his secret area of the pantry. 

Frost had gathered on the grass in the park across the street, and Buckys' artificial arm sent the cold through the nerve endings in his chest, making him flinch with every bit of wind that blew by. He usually ignored it, but the alcohol hadn't taken affect yet. He didn't feel the warmth racing through him yet, as Steve stammered out to join him. A wave of fear rushed through Bucky as he realized he had nowhere to hide his whisky. 

Steve stumbled out the door, wearing only a pair of pajama pants and a T-Shirt, unaffected by the cold. "What are you doing up?" He asked groggily. "It's not even Seven." When Bucky didn't respond, Steve looked up and saw the nearly empty bottle of whisky. He sighed, and pulled out one of the other chairs at the table. 

"Does alcohol even have an effect on you?" He asked. Bucky shook his head, almost sadly. "Not really, but it can help me forget." Steve let out a heavy sigh, and picked up the glass bottle to examine it. "Maybe this is a useless question, but is there anything that I can help with? Is there anything that I can do to make your horrors go away? Even temporarily?"

Bucky felt himself start to tear up, but he didn't quite understand why. He shook his head, almost to gently for Steve to see. "They haven't been that bad recently, actually," He lied. "Just being with you, not feeling the weight of hundreds of governments trying to have me executed is enough to keep me going every day." Steve wasn't convinced, and it was obvious by the look he gave him. Bucky couldn't look him in the eyes. He didn't want to feel the guilt that came from failing the only person who cared about him.

His feelings slowly started to overwhelm him. Pain raced through his shoulder and down his torso as he tried to grab for the bottle that was no longer there. He couldn't help but let out a sharp sigh as he grabbed at the nerve endings on his torso. It took all his energy and strength to not rip the bottle of Xanax from his jacket pocket. "I-I have to go inside," Bucky said as he stumbled away from the table and into the apartment. He practically ran into the bedroom and locked the door behind him, trying to ignore the pounding at the door.

He hardly made it to the trash can in the corner of the room before he vomited. His heart-rate quickened as the panic attack drew closer and closer. He dragged himself onto the bed and grabbed his pillow. His screams echoed around the bedroom, even when he tried to muffle them so Steve couldn't hear. The world went quiet. he didn't hear his own screams, he didn't hear as Steve broke down the door, and carried him into the living room. The last thing Bucky knew, he passed out in Steves arms, listening to Steves anxious heartbeat as he tried to thing of what he had to do.


	2. Withdrawl

When Bucky woke up under a blanket on the couch, the sky was dark. Steve was sitting at the kitchen table looking through paperwork, a cup of coffee ling gone cold beside him. As Bucky stirred, his gaze shot up from the file, and he quickly made his way across the living room.

"Hey," he said gently. "Feel any better?" 

He sat up with a groan giving Steve a small nod. He reached towards his pocket out of instinct, and Steve shook his head sadly. 

"Are there any more bottles besides the one in your pocket?" 

Bucky sighed and collapsed against the armrest and shook his head no. He didn't have the energy to argue. His body ached, and he longed to go back to a simpler time. Steve was tired of dealing with his problems, and he knew it. He heard Sam and Steve talking about a VA program nearby that they had heard promising things about. Bucky knew no mental institutions would take him, or else Steve would've taken him long ago. He thought about getting himself evaluated, seeing if there was anything therapy could do for him, but it didn't seem like anything would work.

He stood up and walked towards the bedroom, Steve slowly trailing behind him. He grimaced at the sight of the broken doorframe, but hurried into the room to grab a fresh t-shirt. He told Steve he was going for a walk, and hurried towards the front door. He didn't look back at the worried Steve as he rushed to the stairwell. 

He walked down the street towards the nearby park, and sat down on a bench. He patted down his pockets hoping to find his pills or his cigarettes, his shaking hands pulling away disappointed. He felt withdrawals coming, and he knew Steve wouldn't give them back without a fight. He sighed and collapsed against the bench, watching the leaves on the trees blow from the autumn chill. 

His whole body began to shake as the night dragged on. His torso ached when the wind blew, irritating the metal imbedded in his skin. He was restraining himself from vomiting as he frantically looked around for a trash can, only narrowly making it. He let out a shaky breath before beginning the slow walk back home.

The twilight reflected against the windows of the apartment complex. Even from the outside, Bucky could see Steve anxiously pacing around the apartment. He sighed and made his way inside. Steve let out a relieved sigh when he heard the door open. Sam was sitting at the table, looking like he just woke up. The room smelled like coffee. Bucky glanced at the clock on the stove. He had been gone a few hours. Steve put the phone in his hand down, trying not to let him see that he was about to call the police. He wanted to wrap him in his arms and keep him there forever, but he knew better. Steve watched as Bucky let out another shaky breath as he slowly went to the bedroom. 

He heard Sam and Steve talking quietly in the living room. He could hear Sam talking about getting him some help, even if it meant sending him somewhere he didn't want to go. He heard Steve start to cry. He knew Sam was right. It seemed to be only a matter of time before they sent him away. He heard Sam leave, and Steve slowly climb into the bed next to him. He felt Steve's body shake through silent sobs, and he wished he could pretend everything was back to the way it was. 

Bucky left again before dawn, leaving a note not to worry Steve. He started walking down the streets of the city, only stopping when his legs couldn't hold him any longer. smell of the city made him feel better, bringing him back to childhood. He found peace amongst the old historical buildings of Brooklyn, none of which had changed. The bustling of the people made him wish he had a Xanax, but he would be alright. All was normal and quiet as he walked towards City Hall. As he passed the front, he was flung down onto the sidewalk, enveloped in the heat of an explosion from inside the building.


End file.
